The Ultimate Dariaverse
by Ronixis Kenni
Summary: Okay, NOW the second chapter of the critically acclaimed alterverse Daria fic is up. Huge changes in this chapter!
1. Hello, Hello, Hello, How Low?

As the principal continued shilling Lawndale High School as if it was some sort of luxury hotel, Daria was thinking to herself, working aggressively in her mind to forge her own opinion about the meaningless charade which was Lawndale High School.

_I hate it here, _Daria thought to herself, _between the padded walls of my room at home, and the sheer insanity at this high school that "Principal McVicker" over here is trying, poorly, to hide, I feel like I'm in a mental instutution. Not a very good one, either._

"As you can see, our Lawndale High students take great pride in our school." Mrs. Li continued, "That's why you'll be taking a small psychological exam. Using the data our school psychologist collects, we'll be able to contrast your numerous shortcomings and weaknesses so we'll be able to put you in classes which suit your needs sufficiently."

"So, in other words, you're giving all of us a test that allows you to laugh at our 'numerous shortcomings' as a means of making you, the 'honorable leader' feel superior." Daria asked quietly, with a clearly venomous edge to her voice. Mrs. Li showed no signs of hearing her, but Daria wondered if maybe she was just pretending to ignore her statement. Daria got that a lot; Some people were worse actors than others, however.

"No one told me about any tests!" Quinn protested with dismay.

"Jeez. Don't worry. It's a psychological test. You're 'automatically exempt.'" Daria replied.

Quinn seemed to be slightly assured by this remark. "Huh? So, I don't have to take it?"

"...Of course you have to take it," Daria said, and then, hoping that Quinn might detect her sarcasm, "But this is a type of test with such comically high standards that it's impossible to pass."

"Wha? But it's not fair! Why do we have to take a test on our first day of school?" Quinn moaned. Upon hearing this response, Daria decided trying sarcasm on Quinn was a lost cause today, and sighed.

"You students," Mrs. Li started, "Will all be taking the psychological tests in groups of two. The person you take the test with will be chosen randomly." Mrs. Li then pointed to a white-haired person wearing an odd blue trenchcoat and matching jeans. "Going up first will be you..." and then she pointed directly at Daria. "...And _you._ Just go right through this doorway here and meet with our school psychologist."

"...I don't suppose you'll just take my word for it that I'm sane. Silly me, that's simply asking for too much." Daria remarked. 

Mrs. Li laughed. "This isn't a test to determine your sanity." Mrs. Li replied. "It's just a small psychological exam to spot any little clouds on the horizon as you sail the student seas of Lawndale High."

Daria turned to the trenchcoat-wearing senior as they walked into the room. "S.O.S. Girl overboard." 

"..." The person retorted.

As Daria walked into the office, she saw a brown haired woman in her mid-to-late fifties, wearing a beige pantsuit. Daria assumed this was the school psychologist. Daria noticed that she was saying something; probably an introductory speech and an explanation of the test. Daria decided to not actually listen, and she assumed her silent companion was doing the same. The psychologist held out a picture of a man and a woman and showed it to the guy in the trenchcoat. "Now, Dante, what do you see here?"

"Dante" replied with an "..."

"Um, Mr. Rey?"

"..."

"We will not be able to test you, Mr. Rey, unless you pay attention and answer these questions."

"..."

"Mr. Rey..."

"He's mute." Daria announced.

"Really?" asked the shrink.

"No." Daria remarked impatiently.

"Then why did you say so?" the psychologist inquired.

"Because I felt like it." Daria asserted confidently.

"Do you always say what you feel like saying?"

"Do you always ask stupid, meaningless questions?"

The psychologist scribbled something down in her notepad and held up the picture of the man and woman again. "I'll ask you the question I asked Mr. Rey, Nicole."

"Excuse me... My name isn't Nicole. It's Daria."

"Okay, Dyra, What do you see in the picture?"

"I guess I see... A herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains." Daria answered.

"Uh... there aren't any ponies. It's two _people_." the psychologist stated with confusion.

"Last time I took one of these tests they told me they were clouds. They said they could be whatever I wanted."

"That's a different test, dear," she said patiently. "In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing."

"Oh," Daria replied. "I see. All right, then." She stared at the photo for an instant, and made her reply. "It's a guy and a girl, and they've just killed the mayor of a major port city by choking him to death with razor wire so they could steal all the money that was on the corpse. Now, though, they're having an argument about who cleans up the mess and who disposes of the body. They decide to solve both problems at once by taking a tank of gasoline..."

"...That's such a _negative _story." the psychologist claimed abruptly as to stop Daria from finishing that sentence at all costs. "Can't you come up with a more postive one, Miss Dora?"

"Alright. It's a guy and a girl, and they're discussing..." She paused for a heartbeat. "... a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains."

Dante Rey cocked his head down, brought his fist to his mouth, and made silent chuckling motions upon hearing this conversation, but no noise was to be heard. The psychologist, on the other hand, put an expression of vexation upon her face and tucked the photograph into a file. Daria awaited the following question eagerly. The psychologist put her hands around another picture, a picture of a vase, and gingerly held it in front of Daria and the trenchcoat-wearing kid. "Mr. Rey, what do you see here?"

"..."

"Mr. Rey, you're going to have to speak a little louder."

"Don't fool yourself, lady." Daria said, clearly looking annoyed.

The psychologist's phony smile tightened into a snarl and her face turned beet red as she held up the picture of the vase to Daria.

"Okay, Miss Dora, what do _you _see?!!!!" The psychologist said the last word as if she was standing on hot coals.

"I see a pot."

The psychologist suddenly looked as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders and put her bogus smile on once again. "Good, Daria! Alright, next..."

"Yeah, and there's three guys smoking it." Daria said, smugly.

*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*

"Class," the history teacher, Mr. DeMartino, started, "we have a new _student_ joining us today. Please welcome _Daria_ Morgendorffer. Daria, _raise_ your hand, please." Daria did so, reluctantly. Mr. DeMartino put on a maniacal expression and decided to shoot to kill. "Well, Daria! As long as you have your hand raised... Last week, we began a unit on westward expansion. Perhaps you feel it's _unfair_ to be asked a question on your first day of class?" 

"Excuse me?" Daria asked.

"Daria, can you concisely and unemotionally sum up for us the Doctrine of Manifest Destiny?"

Daria grew frustrated and answered the question. "Manifest Destiny was a slogan popular in the mid-1840s. It was used by people who claimed it was God's will for the U.S. to expand all the way to the Pacific Ocean." She added, "These people did not include many Mexicans."

DeMartino confirmed the answer. "Very good, Daria. Almost... suspiciously good." He then faced the rest of his classroom vigorously. "All right, class. Who can tell me which war Manifest Destiny was used to justify? _Kevin!_" Some heads turned to face Kevin, the black-haired guy wearing his school football gear.

"The Vietnam War?"

"That came a little later, Kevin," DeMartino said slowly. "A _hundred years_ later! A lot of good men died in that conflict, Kevin. I believe we _owe_ it to them to _at least get the century right!_"  
"Uh... Operation Watergate?"

"Son... promise me you'll come back and see me one day when you have the _Heisman trophy_ and a chain of _auto dealerships,_ and _I'm_ saving up for a _second pair of pants!_ Will you promise me that, Kevin?"  
"Sure!"  
Kevin's girlfriend, a bubbly blonde-haired cheerleader, chimed in. "Can I come, too? That is, if Kevin and I are still together?

A random voice in the background said gothically, "Heh. You won't be. Not if I have anything to say about it." Daria turned to see the speaker's face and saw a handsome guy sitting gloomily in his seat. He was clad in traditional goth gear, including a black mesh shirt, a black leather vest, a necklace of a sterling silver dragon being choked to death by a brass pentagram, and numerous eyebrow piercings. His raven-black hair also had an indigo-colored streak on it. Despite his completely unfamiliar appearance (there were no goths in Highland, but they seemed quite prominent in Lawndale, as Daria spotted another figure clad in black, a girl, in the corner of her eye) this guy had a strange, almost amicable feel about him. Daria wondered if she recognized him from Highland, but realized that was impossible; she really hadn't even known many people back _then._ Daria dismissed her notions.

"Ah... Brittany, Can you guess which war we fought against the Mexicans over Manifest Destiny?" Mr. Demartino asked.

"Nope."

"Please try, Brittany..." 

"Uh... the Viet Cong War?"

"Either someone gives me the answer, or I give you all double homework and a quiz tomorrow. I want a volunteer with the answer. _NOW!"_

Daria raised her hand.

"_Daria, stop showing off!"_

The goth boy in the back confidently raised his hand.

"Oh, I see... Mr. Christian, you think you can single-handedly save this entire classroom from extra work?"

Christian sighed. "Due to the fact that the Americans then, like now, are total pricks and felt that every single piece of land they came upon belonged to them, and since they whined about the Mexicans owning a little piece of the continent that America didn't have, they incited the Mexican-American war, which nobody would remember if somebody hadn't decided to turn the Battle of the Alamo into numerous tourist traps, movies, and franchises. Ironically enough, today this country is populated with large quantities of Mexican-Americans." Christian then thought for a moment and continued. "And I say that as a loyal patriot to this fine country. Any country that lets presidents cheat on their wives, and get away with it, deserves the insignificant respect of a spiteful peon such as I."

Hearing him speak, Daria felt even more that he knew this person, who seemed... intriguing at the very least; and kind of cynical, from the looks of things. She was beginning to like this particular outcast, and wondered if maybe she should look into the situation later.

Mr. DeMartino looked surprised, almost like his mind was still in the works of processing what Christian had just said. "Christian. _Once_ again, you amaze me by answering _correctly_... Perhaps a little bit _too _correctly. I'll have to _ask_ you to refrain _from_ giving your answers in the editorial _format_ next time around."

"No problem. By the way, good luck on getting that second pair of pants."

As the bell rang, Christian rose out of his seat and dropped a note on Daria's lap. It said:

****

If you want your obviously thinning shell of sanity to be redeemed, you might feel obliged to meet me after school in front of the main exit. I can probably help you.

-CW

"Huh?" Daria said to herself as she quietly read the note. "What a creepy guy."

*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*

After school Daria walked through the crowded halls towards the main exit. Even though that was the exit she would probably take on a normal day anyway, a strange guy who emitted a feeling of familiarity about him was supposedly waiting there for her, and Daria decided she'd listen to whatever the guy had to say. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. Daria eventually came to the main exit, and, as Daria expected, "Christian" was nonchalantly waiting there, leaning on a locker.

"Long time no see." Christian said, talking as if he'd known Daria for years.

"We just saw each other three hours ago." Daria retorted.

"It was a long time _before_ we saw each other three hours ago." Christian mumbled.

"I guess I've struck my head and gotten amnesia then, because we _didn't_ know each other before then." Daria said flippantly.

"Oh, geez, Daria, I can't believe you don't remember me." Christian shouted in awe. "I knew you in seventh grade, remember? In Highland."

"Oh yeah, I remember you."

"You do?"

"Definitely. How are you doing, Stewart?"

Christian looked as if he was getting frustrated. He leaned back more and said, "I threw rotten eggs at your sister's bike. I'm pretty sure she'd had a fit back then, too."

"Yeah. Quinn complained about it for weeks until my dad bought her a new one-" Daria then did a doubletake, or as much of one as she could considering her emotionless expression. "Christian? Christian Wormwood?"

Christian flashed an enigmatic grin. "In the flesh... Unfortunately."

"What the hell are you doing around this place?" Daria inquired.

"I left Highland, to live with my Uncle Jay, after the... after... the..." Christian looked as though he was unable to finish his sentence.

"...After the 'incident'." Daria finished for him.

"Yeah... After that happened, the people around town had treated me like... Like I was some kind of monster." He began fiddling with one of his eyebrow piercings nervously. "There were even a couple of stores around town that wouldn't let me shop there. I ended up moving in with my Uncle to get a fresh start again. I've lived in Lawndale for... three and a half years, I guess." he looked like he was reminiscing for a split second, and finished, "...and every second sucked. Anyway, why didn't you recognize me at first?"

"It might have been because when you left Highland, you were the preppiest guy I knew, and now, you're just an outcast like me, only with weirder clothing."

"I started wearing black as a reflection of my mood. Besides, I like to think I look good in it. But... I didn't expect you to be here."

"My family moved from Highland so my mom could get a better job. I sort of hoped that this place would be a bit more sane than Highland, but..." Daria said.

Christian laughed. 

"What's so funny?" Daria asked.

"I'm pretty sure that it was Friedrich Nietzsche who said 'Insanity in individuals is something rare, but in groups, parties, nations and epochs it is the rule.' Unfortunately, I didn't hear that quote until I moved to Lawndale, so imagine my surprise when I saw Lawndalian versions of Mr. VanDriessen and Todd." Christian almost seemed irritated.

"Since when did you start quoting Nietzsche?" Daria asked.

"Since I heard Madonna say 'If I wasn't as talented as I was ambitious, I would be a gross monstrosity' and decided it was time to seek somebody who said more intelligent things."

"After hearing _that _quote, I think I'm going to go home and have a slice of that thick, rich irony."

As Christian began to walk away, he said, "Save me some, too."

*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*_-*

Thick irony wasn't for dinner that day, but microwavable lasagna was. Daria sat through her parent's conversation, poking the inedible lumps of "gourmet lasagna" with the handle end of her fork.

"... so then they asked me to join the pep squad. They said I didn't have to try out or anything, but I said, 'Look, I'm new here; give me a chance to get used to the place first.' So for now, I'm the vice president of the Fashion Club, and that's it."

"As long as you can join pep squad later, if you want to," Helen replied. "It's your choice. You never know how much you can handle until you try, though!" 

Daria's father, Jake, joined in. "How about you, Daria? How was your first day?"

"Well," she replied, "my history teacher hates me because I know all the answers. But on the bright side, there are some interesting idiots in my class."

"Daria," Helen lectured, don't judge people until you know them. You're in a brand new school in a brand new town. You don't want it to be Highland all over again."

"Not much chance of that happening. Unless there's uranium in the drinking water here, too." Daria suddenly remembered Christian that day, and decided that if she said a single interesting thing about her day, her parents might shut up. "Speaking of Highland, it turns out Christian Wormwood goes to Lawndale High School."

Quinn piped up again. "Christian Wormwood? Was he one of the retarded boys who followed you around?"

Daria flashed her Mona Lisa smile. "Better. He was the preppy kid who threw rotten eggs at your bicycle."

Upon hearing those words, Jake shrieked. That situation wasn't one he'd wanted to remember.

"_I thought he'd been sent to a juvenile hall!!!!" _Quinn shouted in surprise.

"He did. After serving his four months in Dallas, he moved in with his uncle and started quoting Friedrich Nietszche, wearing goth gear, and saving his classroom for the rigors of double homework." Daria said, somewhat sarcastically.

"But Daria," Helen said, "Wasn't he sent to juvenile hall for doing something really horrible? It was four years ago... I can't remember exactly what happened, but I remember it being in the local papers."

"Yeah? Well, I guess he moved on." Daria replied.

"Well, I guess that's okay," Helen decided, "but you need to be making even _more_ friends. Don't be so critical. Give people the benefit of the doubt."

Jake echoed her. "It all boils down to trust."

"Exactly!" Helen said. "It all boils down to trust. Show a little trust."

Daria decided to test this. "Mom... Dad... you're right. Can I borrow either car?" 

"No."

"No."

Just then, the phone rang.

"God, I hope that's not the booster society again," Quinn moaned. "They just won't take 'no' for an answer, especially this one black girl... though she _does_ have the cutest dreadlocks..."

"African American, sweetie," Helen corrected. "Hello?" she said as she switched on the cordless phone. "Yes... yes, she's my daughter... I see... listen, is this going to require any parent/teacher conferences or anything, and if so, is this the sort of thing my assistant can handle? Okay, great. Bye!"

Helen stared at Daria and Quinn. "You girls took a psychological test at school today?"

Quinn's eyes grew wide. "_Oh no!_ I flunked it, didn't I?"

"This isn't about you, Quinn." Helen turned to Daria. "Daria, they want you to take a special class for a few weeks, then they'll test you again."

Quinn seemed consoled by this remark. "Well, so long as I'm not the _only _who flunked it..."

Helen frowned. "She didn't flunk anything." She turned to Jake. "It seems she has low self-esteem."

"What?! That really stinks, Daria!"

"Good. Then it's in the same category as this lasagna." Daria said, cunningly.

"Easy, Jake... focus." Helen turned her attention to Daria. "We tell you over and over again that you're wonderful, and _you_ _just don't get it._" Helen slammed her fist on the table, to the alarm of Jake and Quinn. "_What's wrong with you?!_"

"I guess you've caught me. I'm actually a robot made by the Russians, programmed to spy on stupid high schools and have no self-esteem." Daria said, with angry sarcasm.

"_STOP JOKING AROUND, DARIA!!!!!"_ Helen yelled. "This isn't a joking matter! The psychologist said you had low self-esteem and I'm taking her word over yours. There's a remedial self-esteem class tomorrow and you'll be attending it. And you don't have a choice, either."

"Don't worry," Daria assured them. "I don't have low self-esteem. It's a mistake."

"I'll say!" Jake exclaimed.

"I have low esteem for everyone else."

*_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

"So they're forcing you to attend the remedial class?" Christian asked, the next day.

"Yeah. They decided that I'd be a better person if I was locked in a room with other freaks while a man going through a midlife crisis treats me like a preschooler."

"That's a pretty accurate description, but do you know what they do to you in that class?"

"Sexually harass us to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle Dandee?'"

"Worse. They make you carry around a sheet that the teachers completely fill out at the end of each period. You think Mr. DeMartino's bad now? Wait until you ask him 'how good you were' _every single day._ And things get even more horrible when you get home."

"I suppose you're going to describe that next?" Daria asked.

"Your parents sign that sheet every day. You won't be able to keep a single secret from them. The entire premise is so brutal that repeated exposure and humiliation has been proven time and time again to influence people to cause chaos." Christian said, grimly.

"I'm curious now. How do you know all this?"

"Even after getting out of juvy four years ago, when I spent my last days in Highland Middle School, they put me in a class like that. Only it was Remedial Behavior, not Remedial Self-Esteem." He thought about it for a few seconds, and added, "Words can't describe the horrors I experienced from just sixteen days in that class. Which is why I recommend an alternative to going to it."

Daria became interested suddenly. "Such as...?"

"...Such as cutting it."

"And expelling myself in the process."

"There's a way around that. I have a friend who's also supposed to attend that class, and she's cutting it, too."

"Oh, really."

"Yeah. She's a bit weird, but beggars can't be choosers."

Daria and Christian walked down the hallway together, until they reached a girl shoving books awkwardly into her locker. She had short black hair, dark gray shorts, a black V-neck shirt, and a red jacket with the sleeves rolled up.

"Hey, Jane!" Christian called.

"Christian. What the hell do _you _want?" Jane called back.

"This is Daria Morgendorfer. She's an old childhood acquaintance of mine, and she's stuck attending that remedial self-esteem class."

"I didn't know you had old childhood acquaintances."

"Neither did I. Anyway, could you help her cut that class?" Christian asked.

"Forty bucks." Jane said.

"Ten."

"Thirty."

"Twenty."

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-two dollars and fifty cents." Christian bargained.

"Deal." Jane decided.

As Christian fished the money out of a pocket in his vest, Jane held her hand out to collect.

"Okay, I'm outta here. See you, Daria." Christian said.

"Yeah. Thanks, Christian." Daria replied. "So, what's this 'big secret'?" Daria asked Jane.

"You don't show up." Jane said casually. "You can't get expelled for attending an optional class. And your parents won't even find out."

"Christian paid through the nose just to hear_ that?_"

"Yep."

"Geez, I like your style."

"Thanks. I'm an artist."

"Really."

"Yeah. I work mostly with canvas, but I've been known to do a few sculptures."

As Daria and Jane began to walk together, they realized they were headed in the same direction.

"Want to walk home with me?" Daria asked.

"If I had something better to do, I'd say no."

"You don't, do you?"

"How did you guess?"

As they walked home together, they continued to talk. 

"So how do you know Christian?" Jane asked.

"Back where I used to live, he was in most of my seventh-grade classes. But..."

"...But?" Jane inquired.

"He was different back then. I was pretty much the same... I was an outcast back then, too... But Christian... He was just preppy. He wore sweater vests and polo shirts and things like that. He was... social."

Jane laughed. "You're kidding me. A guy like that?"

Daria nodded. "He was an only child living with his wealthy father. He was a cocky bastard back then. It's sort of strange that we've been getting along now."

Jane seemed intrigued. "Then what turned him into the guy he is now? Sorry, but it seems a bit weird, at least to me, to make such an abrupt change."

"It was an incident... I'm not clear on the details, but his dad disappeared, Christian went to juvy for a few months, and shortly after that, he left Highland. I really never thought I'd see him again." Daria finished her story. "Anyway, how is it that you know how to skip that stupid self-esteem class?"

"Simple. I've been in it six times."

"If that's true, then according to Christian, you'd have been 'influenced to cause chaos.'"

"Christian hates _anything _remedial. What he says about the Remedial Behavior class is one-hundred percent true."

"But the remedial self-esteem class?"

"It's a bit different. The 'chaos' is still there. It's just a lot more subtle."

"Really? Explain." Daria smiled, and realized she'd actually found a friend.

*_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

"... so, then, after the role-playing, next class they put the girls and the guys in separate rooms, and a female counselor talks to us about body image." 

"What do they talk to the boys about?" Daria asked.

"Well, think about it. A room full of boys. A male teacher."

"Nocturnal emissions." Daria commented.

"Right on the money." Jane replied.

When they reached Daria's house, Jane issued an offer. "Want to walk to my house and watch _Sick, Sad, World_? It's only a few more blocks this way."

"You know what? I think I will." She passed by her house and continued down the sidewalk.

"Shouldn't you tell your parents first?" Jane called to her.

"I can call them from your house."

"Don't think I don't realize you're deliberately attempting to avoid your house." Jane said with a smile.

"I'm not a psychic, but I sense that my mom's inside there waiting for me, getting ready to force me to do something pointless to 'raise my self esteem.'"

"In that case, going with me is the safest thing to do."

"Oh, no doubt." Daria said.

*_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

Daria had walked into her house later that day, after seeing a somewhat interesting episode of _Sick, Sad, World_ ("Coffee: Innocent Drink? Or Cold Blooded Killer? Next, on _Sick, Sad, World!_") When she did, she saw her mother asleep on the couch. 

"She'd came home early to do something with you, but when you didn't show up, she'd fallen asleep from exhaustion."

_Well, that's just another factor that worked to my advantage, _thought Daria. 

Quinn sported a devious expression. "So, how did you like your self-esteem class?" Quinn asked.

"We spent the entire day making fun of annoying little sisters like you." Daria said, "I can't wait to go back." And with that, she walked up to her room, satisfied.

*_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

"So, like, what do you like to do after school?" the boy asked.

"Oh, nothing special," Quinn said, "Go to the movies, or, like, a theme park, or out for a really fancy meal now and then, or maybe go to a concert if, like, I know someone who's got really good seats and is renting a limo and stuff."

Jane and Daria watched in the hallway as Quinn prepared this guy for a massive torturing.

"You hear that? He hasn't got a prayer." Jane said with amusement.

"Tell me about it. That's my sister." Daria retorted.

Jane winced. "Wow. Bummer. What's that like?"

"Hey Quinn, do you have any brothers or sisters?" asked the boy.

"Nope. I'm an only child." Quinn replied matter-of-factly.

"I think that answers your question." Daria told Jane.

From behind an open locker door, a voice whispered something into the boy's ear. "(Hey. Tell her you own a Ferrari.)"

The boy turned to this hidden person. "(But I _don't_ own one.)"

"(She doesn't know that. Tell her you have a Ferrari, jet black.)"

The boy took this mystery person's advice. "Hey... Ya know, I own a '97 Ferrari. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a joyride sometime?"

Now, Quinn seemed interested. "What color?"

"Umm... Black."

"Sure! Can you pick me up at eight?"

Daria and Jane seemed thoroughly surprised by this, But just then, the locker door closed, and Christian stepped out.

Jane seemed amused. "What did you do that for?"

"Just wait until Quinn sees what the guy _really _drives." Christian said, menacingly.

"You sure love to torture my sister." Daria said.

"Damn right I do." Christian replied with a grin. "To quote Al Gore, 'A zebra cannot change it's spots.'"Jane smiled a bit at that remark, and Daria decided that Christian Wormwood had truly turned a new leaf for the better.

*_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=

Daria stared at her lump of lasagna as if it was a squashed bug that was somehow reassembling itself. "Is this really sanitary?" She asked indifferently.

"It's the lasagna from yesterday. It's fine." Helen answered.

"These are the leftovers from the leftovers from the two-month old TV dinner you nuked in the microwave three days ago and ruined, mom." Daria said. "It's practically sentient by now."

Helen changed the subject. "So, how's the self-esteem class going?"

"My teacher told me that some of the most infamous terrorists in world history have lived off of spoiled food."

Helen made a sour face. "Daria, please be serious."

Daria hesitated for a second, and remembered her conversation with Jane. "All the females were taken into a seperate room and a female counselor talked to us about body image." Daria said. "And she said we shouldn't care about our weight, or what we look like. She said it didn't matter."

Suddenly, Quinn burst into laughter.

"That's nice." Helen said. Turning to Quinn, she asked, "So, how was your day?"

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"That's my date, gotta go." Quinn replied, and ran out of the house.

Daria got up and walked toward the window. She saw the boy from earlier that day in a rusted El Camino, and flashed her Mona Lisa smile. Not only had she seen the horrors that Christian had forced upon her sister, butat that moment she had just come up with a way to make her family suffer.

"Hey, I bet it would feel good if we go to Pizza Forest for dinner like we did when we were kids!" 

Helen looked awe-stricken. "The place with the singers?!!" 

Daria faked an expression of excitement. "Boy. I sure do miss those songs..."

And so, the next evening, Daria found her family, including her bitter sister, who was forced to come and was still reeling from the shock of her last date, sitting in the incredibly childish Pizza Forest. Jake and Helen looked as if they were on another planet, but Daria sat contently, enjoying the torture of the rest of her family. The highlight of the evening, however, came when a group of annoyed teenagers in animal costumes walked over to Daria's booth and sang a bitter rendition of "Row, Row, Row your boat," much to her family's stunning chagrin.

*_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=

"... and once again, the bake sale was a tremendous success." Ms. Li said, standing behind a podium in the auditorium. "We raised $400, which was subsequently stolen from the office, but I am confident we will get that money back. In a related note, the school nurse will be visiting homerooms tomorrow to collect DNA samples. Now, Mr. O'Neill has some disappointing news about our after-school self-esteem class."

Mr. O'Neill stood up and walked to the podium. "I'm afraid to report," He began, "That while our school's remedial self-esteem class is optional, there have been a few cases where I fear the class is being cut by the students without their parents' consent." Mr. O'Neill said sadly.

Daria was sitting in the audience. "Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought you said your method for cutting class was foolproof."

"Nope. Not once did I say any such thing."

"Oh, yeah."

"Mr. O'Neill continued. "I'm afraid that today, the parents of every student considered for the remedial self-esteem program will be called to inform them of their child's status."

"We're screwed." Daria said indifferently.

"Yep." Jane replied, with equal gusto.

Suddenly, a bomb squad ran into the auditorium. Heads in the audience turned to stare at the group of armed men which had entered through the left entrance, tailed by a scared-looking office secretary and a police canine.

"Wow." Daria said. "That's pretty lucky."

"What is?" Jane asked.

"We've had a report about bombs being strategically placed in six lockers in this school." One of the officers said to Mrs. Li.

"What?" Mrs. Li asked, shocked. "But... We're in the middle of an assembly!"

"I think the lives of your students are more important than any assembly." The officer said angrily.

"Wow. That _is _lucky." Jane said.

*_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*

"...And we had to wait in the cold auditorium while these creepy police guys searched lockers." Quinn said, at dinner. "_Ohmigosh!_ What if they searched mine??" Quinn asked with fear.

"That's just horrible." Helen said. "I'm glad it was only a prank."

"Did they find out who was responsible for the calls?" Jake asked.

"No." Daria answered emotionlessly. _Although, I think I already know, _Daria thought. _Anyway, I guess I can use this to my advantage._

"By the way, I passed the final remedial self-esteem test." Daria said. "So I don't have to go anymore."

Helen's firm expression softened a little. "Really? That's wonderful, dear."

"Uh, yeah. I guess..." Daria replied.

"I'l be _sooo_ embarrassed if those bomb guys went through my stuff! They'd probably break all of it..." Quinn continued, completely ignoring the subconversation.

"Yeah, then you'd have to buy a whole bunch of new stuff..." Daria said sarcastically.

"That's a _great _idea, Daria! Mom, can I use your gold card?" Quinn said. Jake shrieked. Daria sighed. She'd killed a few birds with one stone today; She'd gotten away with cutting class, got sweet revenge on her parents for trying to make her attend the class, and lied so she wouldn't have to "cut" the class any longer. Okay, it wasn't exactly a moral day, but a good one nonetheless.


	2. With the lights out it's less dangerous

Episode 102

The Invitation

Chapter II

With the Lights Out, it's Less Dangerous

-------

"Now, class," Mr. O'Neill said, "Can you give me any examples of guilt in writing and literature?"

Nobody raised their hand. It was the middle of Mr. O'Neill's english class, and Daria noticed pretty much everybody, especially Jane, Mack, and Christian, were bored out of their wits. Daria was paying a minimal amount of attention to keep up in this class, but didn't fully drain everything Mr. O'Neill was talking about. Daria had decided that doing something of that caliber would take a superhuman mind, not just an above-average one like the one she herself possessed.

"Anybody?" He looked around the class. "Uh... Kevin?"

Kevin put on his usual confused expression. "Huh? ...I'm the Q.B."

Mr. O'Neill paused for a moment to see if he could work this into a decipherable answer. "Uhhh... So, an example of guilt in football?"

Kevin scratched his chin for a second. "Ummm... Maybe that guy who tackled Theismann?"

Now it was Mr. O'Neill's turn to be confused. "Excuse me? Who is that, Kevin?"

"The guy who ended Joe Theismann's career."

Michael Jordan MacKenzie whispered into Kevin's ear. "Lawrence Taylor." He said irritably.

If such a thing were possible, a lightbulb would have blinked on over Kevin's head. "Yea, yea! Lawrence Taylor felt guilty about cracking Theismann's leg into teeny pieces!"

Mr. O'Neill cringed furiously. Then he regained a bit of compusure and said weakly, "Okay... V, very good, K-Kevin. What about other examples of guilt in society?"

Brittany Taylor's hand shot up.

"Miss Taylor?"

"Stealing something?" Brittany answered airily.

Mr. O'Neill's expression lit up. "Oh, very good, Brittany! Stealing something is a great example. Tell us how doing something like stealing would make us guilty."

"Um... Stealing something would make you feel guilty." Brittany replied.

As quickly as it rose, Mr. O'Neill's expression fell, into that midlife-crisis frown he was famous for. "Okayyyy... Thank you, Brittany. Class, I want you all to think of the time in your life that has made you the guiltiest you've ever felt. Then I would like you to write a two page essay about it, due this Monday. For example..."

Mr. O'Neill got cut off by the sound of the bell. 

"Well, class, it looks like we've run out of time. Have a nice weekend..." Mr. O'Neill said wearily.

The class quickly got up and crowded out through the narrow doorway, completely ignoring their English teacher's sentiment. The class ignored their English teacher's sentiment. They quickly got up and crowded through the narrow doorway. Daria gathered materials for her next class from her locker. She walked to her next class, then stopped. Christian leaned against a locker. He smirked at Daria, then fiddled with one of his eyebrow piercings. He had a companion, too: Karen, the burned-out-looking blonde girl from one of Daria's classes.  
Daria felt Andrea, the "other" goth, somewhere close. Had she stumbled into the lair of the _dangerously_ antisocial students?

"...What are _you_ smirking about?" Daria said impatiently to Christian.

"I've known you since before you wore glasses, Daria. I'm almost _positive_ you've never had anything to be significantly guilty about." Christian said smugly, as if knowing such a thing were an accomplishment.

"Eh?" Daria said.

"Don't act like a Canadian, Daria. Back in Highland, you were the 'quiet, smart, weird girl who always followed the rules.' You didn't exactly go to the principal's office every day."

"Back in Highland, _you_ were a conceited asshole. Where's all this going?"

"I'm just saying, that considering the way you live, I've never seen or heard of you doing anything society frowns upon. Considering the way you thrive off of doing well in school and using it as one of the factors to measure yourself against other people, (and don't deny it because you've _always_ been that way.) I think the paper you turn in might become overshadowed... Y'know?"

"I'm going to a party that Brittany Taylor is hosting tomorrow night; I think I'll be guilty about that for the rest of my life."

Christian's jaw dropped. "What?! That came right out of the blue, Morgendorffer."  
  
"You heard me, Wormwood. My sister's going to the party, and since I helped Brittany out in Ms. DeFoe's class, I've been invited, as well. Put two and two together; I'm going to embarrass her senselessly." Despite the strength of the words, Daria's tone remained flat.

"That's always a good reason to do anything, Daria, ...but..."

**"...but... That's my sister's bike!" a younger Daria said.**

"So what, brainy? We both hate her guts, so why are you complaining?" replied a young boy, with short blonde hair, and preppy clothing on. "Your brat of a sister's lucky I didn't break her damn bike over my knee! Jesus Christ!"

"...Yeah, I guess you're right... But..."

"Whatever. I've got a party to get ready for. See you there... Oh, you weren't invited. Sorry." the boy said, and, having vandalized Quinn Morgendorfer's property enough, got on his bike and zipped out of sight. An uncomfortable Daria settled herself by relishing Quinn's impending reaction. 

"Daria??? Hello?" Christian tried to snap Daria out of her flashbacks.

"Oh, sorry. What?" Daria said.

"I was saying that I used to go to parties like that, and each one ended up with me coming home and feeling completely empty. One party, in particular, was ground zero for the action which eventually led to me feeling the second guiltiest I've ever felt. Um, alcohol was involved." Christian said, faking a smile.

"What was the first guiltiest?" Daria asked.

"Can't ruin the ending of my essay, can I?" Christian said with a mild grin.

"If you're so strongly against me going to this party, then come with me and help me embarrass Quinn." Daria said, with her Mona Lisa smile.

"You have no idea how much I'd love to do that, but I'm busy tomorrow night. I'm going out that way, but my motorcycle can only hold two people." Christian said. 

"You have a motorcycle?" Daria asked.

"Yeah, a quiet one. I get a rush out of driving the vehicular equivalent of Russian Roulette." Christian responded. "Anyway, if you're only going to Taylor's party to humilate that snobby creature related to you..." he said as he slid a photograph out of his jean pocket, "I was going through my old stuff yesterday, and I found this old photo in my dresser... I was going to give it to you for a laugh anyway, but..." He stopped his sentence prematurely, and dropped the photo into Daria's hand. "I don't know why I had it, or who took the picture, but... Whatever. You'll figure out a way to use this." He said as he and Karen walked away.

Daria studied the picture for a while, and grinned a little bit as Jane walked up to her. 

"What's up, Daria?"  
  
Without saying a word, she handed the photo to Jane, who stared at it, looked confused for a second, and then laughed out loud.

"C.W. gave it to me. I'm up in the air as to why... I guess he wants me to embarass Quinn with it. It brings back memories, though."

"Memories suck, Daria."

"Truer words have never been spoken."

****

Later that day, in the parking lot at the back of the school, Christian walked towards a black motorcycle that was nearly out of sight. Hanging from his right hand limply was a black duffel bag. He smiled a bit at the thought of Quinn's entourage staring in awe at the photo he'd given Daria, and Quinn's reaction. It really was sad that he wasn't going to see it himself, but going to parties like the one Brittany Taylor was holding had been a major part of a chapter of his life that was, now and forever, dead and buried. He did something different now...

Christian shivered. It was a chillier day in Lawndale then the norm, even in Autumn. He dug into his duffel bag and pulled out a trenchcoat, that was, of course, his favorite color (Some geek had once told him that black was a shade, not a color, but details like that were a bit too anal, even for him.) He pulled in on himself as he got close to his motorcycle; You weren't supposed to wear trenchcoats on school grounds, due to the patented "Teacher's Paranoia," but it wasn't like he'd get caught for it and sent to jail. And even if he _was..._

"Hey, you!" a voice called to Christian from a couple meters away. Christian turned his head to see who was calling for him, and saw Kevin Thompson running towards him.

__

What's this about? Christian thought. "What the hell do _you_ want, jockstrap?"

"Don't play stupid with me, um, man. I heard what you said about my girl."

"Oh, and what was that?"

"My babe said something about us still being together when I'm a big football player and you said that we weren't going to, if you had anything to say about it." Kevin said, remembering Mr.DeMartino's class.

"...So, in other words, you're saying that you're afraid I'm going to sweep Brittany out from under your feet because of something I said while I wasn't paying attention to anything?"

"Yeah! Uhm, I mean..."

"Ya know, Jockstrap Dude, I don't know why I said that that day, but if you're afraid I'm going to start dating cheerleaders, then I think you're playing stupid enough for the both of us." 

"Huh?"

"Look at me, honestly, and decide for yourself if me and your bubblier-than-dish-soap, popular girlfriend are even remotely compatible, my cup-wearing friend."

Kevin looked raised an eyebrow, grabbed his chin, and looked confused for a second. "Wait... What?"

Christian nonchalantly replied to this answer with an "I dunno, what?" and drove away on his motorcycle, figuratively leaving a confused Kevin "in the swamp." The cold winds made his trenchcoat flap behind him as he disappeared from the sight of the shallow football player.

****

"So what are you going to do about that polaroid Christian gave you?"

Daria stuck her left hand into her jacket, pulled out the photograph, and stared at it skeptically. "I'm going to save it for a rainy day, I guess. Circulating this photo around at Brittany's party might be social homicide."

Jane looked confused. "Huh? Daria, it's a really embarrassing photograph, but I don't exactly think that showing it around would completely kill off her buzz..." Jane replied. "At least show it to your sister's fan club."

Daria was silently thinking for a moment before answering. "Yeah... They are way too loyal to Quinn to cause anything but massive embarrassment, I suppose. But..."

"...But?"

"If I drop this bomb on Quinn, she'll just recover from the damages and find a way to get me grounded for a couple millenia."

"She doesn't know you have it, though."

"That particular loophole requires a mysterious force called "logic," which my parents find entirely unnecessary."

"Oh." Changing the subject, Jane asked, "So... What's your favorite urban legend?"

"The cat that got nuked in the microwave. If you can't appreciate the classics, what _can_ you appreciate?" Daria replied, with a smug look on her face.

****

"Excuse me for asking, sir, but what are you doing with all this?" The cashier at the hardware store asked.

Christian's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to make fifty pipe bombs out of orange juice and send Lawndale High School and everyone inside to kingdom !@$%&ing come." he said sarcastically.

"Huh?"

"Now give me one of those sweepstake givaway receipts that give me my entire purchase free, because I'm a freaking madman who will otherwise hunt you down while you sleep and because I'm a dollar fifty short..." Christian said with contempt. He loved it when people judged him by his appearance; it was just kickass when a mother walked down the aisles of the grocery store and gave him a look that said, "My son isn't going to end up like you..."

Christian looked back, shocked, at the cashier, who was currently digging through piles of receipts with a flustered look on his face.

"_Holy crap! _Dude... You _do_ know that I was just joking with you... Right?" 

The cashier looked extremely embarrassed and instantly brought his actions to a halt. He grabbed all of the receipts and put them behind his back, as if to hide them. "Yeah! Of course I did!" He then put on the phoniest smile Christian had ever seen, pointed a pudgy and shaking finger at Christian, and said, "You are one funny man, my friend."

"...Just shut up, dude."

"Yeah..."

Just then, Christian's cellphone rang. He brought it out of his pocket, punched a button on it, and brought it to his ear. "'Sup. this is Christian."

"Hi, Christian! It's Brittany." A squeaky voice said on the other side of the line.

"Oh. Yo. I was expecting your call." Christian replied contently.

"So you know about the party?"

"Daria told me about it. My services are $225 this time around. You get a $25 discount on every fifth party."

"Oh, Yay! That's so cool, Christian!"

"I reward my loyal customers well. You know that. I'll be there to collect at midnight."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

"Later." Christian said, hanging up the phone. Slipping it back into his pocket, he put all his groceries into his cart. "I'll be back for you, asshole." He said to the cashier.

****

Christian hated Lawndale.

It wasn't so much that he hated the people (although he _did)_ but it was the _enviroment _which Christian had truly despised most. Between the cold weather and the zillions of trend-related establishments (he called then 'whore-stores'), he often felt like Hell would be a pleasant vacation. Christian had the brief thought of a sign standing on the city limits reading _Lawndale: Abandon hope all ye who pass through these gates,_ and he chuckled thoughtfully to himself. _I wish some random terrorist would nuke this godforsaken shithole..._

Christian happened to be on his motorcycle at the time; he realized that his silence wasn't very flattering, so he explained his situation to the reluctant passenger.

"When I moved to Lawndale, these bastards did their homework on me and put me directly into a Behavior Disorder class, right? Even though there was nothing indicating I needed it in my file. So, I'm in this class, fourteen years old and being treated like a retarded kindergartner, and having standard middle school priveleges taken from me left and right... Like bathroom breaks, going to my locker, and participating in extracurricular activities that interested me. Not that there were any, but I digress. 

Anyway, once for an English assignment I put this story down on paper about back in Highland when I was a fifth grader and we had to babysit first graders while the teachers sat in their precious little lounge and drank tea or something. I went for a bathroom break, and what do I hear coming from within the four walls of the bathroom but a female's voice talking about dicks. Now, being an immature fifth grader with a perverted puberty-hit mindset, I assume the best, so imagine my surprise when a sixty-year old teacher walks out and gives me a glassy look and... Just kinda walks away. She heeds no warning to me about the possible horrors inside at all... Just walks away. In a cruel twist of fate, I walk into the bathroom and see before my eyes one of the retarded kids, completely naked, drooling, in a pool of his own urine, and the little bitch looked as if he had smeared his crap all over himself, too.

Anyway, I ran out of the lavatory in a screaming hysteria. I wrote that story, sugarcoating the words and removing the vile phrases with crap like 'excretion.' I turn it in... Expecting an 'A,' because I'm a great writer and I normally got good grades for controversial stuff like this. ...And the story wasn't even looked at, because the teachers were too fricking lazy to read something five pages long. So, I resized the font, and cut out some of the scenes, and got an 'F,' not because of the writing quality, not because of my massive usage of the word 'excretion,' but because I'd said that 'it was unacceptable for a retard to do that sort of thing, and if they're so mentally freaked that they can't crap right, then they shouldn't pull these kids into the public schools.' My PC teacher acts like she's the spokesperson for Retard's Lib, and says that 'She prays to God that me or my children never have special needs.' Now, that's an important detail. She's said a religious word in a public school. You're not supposed to do that.

Now, my Uncle Jay eventually does his hippie thing and forcibly takes me out of the BD class, threatening a lawsuit to the district that he'd definitely win. But then, this not-so-ambiguous teacher, who seeks to force her poisonous Catholic opinions on me, moves in right across the street from me, and when she discovers that her stoner of a daughter has been growing the 'Tree of Love' in her garage, she calls the cops and accuses me of breaking into her garage every night and growing it. Me! I've never even touched a cigarette, much less a blunt! I'll admit to slurping a little booze on special occasions, but that's besides the point. Anyway, these pigs ask me a whole bunch of questions and generally act like assholes. When everything checks out, they do further investigations, and I believe that fifteen-year-old Angelica Jevinson is still doing community service for possession.

And then, her stupid dog chases my Uncle's car, and when Uncle Jay stops abruptly, the tailpipe is like a cutting blade, going right through the dumb mutt's head. So this time, _she _threatens a lawsuit, because we 'purposely assassinated her dog.' My Uncle Jay threatens a countersuit, and Mrs. Jevinson chickens out. Instead, she drops a match in my old motorcycle's gas tank or something- I forget what she did, but either way, my motorcycle blew apart, she bribed the police officers so there'd be no evidence against her, and that's why I'm driving this new quiet one.

This is a war. However, in war I take no prisoners, so all the games end right here. I'm going to make Belinda Jevinson's life hell." Christian said, finally ending his long, droning monologue. He was riding his motorcycle into downtown Lawndale, with his passenger, Karen, grabbing his shoulders for balance as she sat behind him.

"Whoaaaaa... That story... rocked..." Karen commented.

"What? I guess it's kinda funny, but nothing special." Christian replied.

"Heh... I'm easily amused..."

"So why did you finally cave in and decide to join me in my megalomaniacal quest for revenge?" Christian inquired.

"I was going to watch the Simpsons tonight, but it was postponed so that viewers everywhere could enjoy the *wonders* of the Westminster Dog Show. Friggin bastards..."

"Plus, you want to..."

"...Want to see you seriously screw this up? Yeahhh..." Karen answered.

"...Right. So anyway, it looks like this building's the one where Mr. Jevinson works." Christian said, motioning towards a shadowy building in front of them. "I gave fifty bucks to Upchuck and he somehow managed to get this address for me."

"How'd you get fifty bucks?"

"The little dork dropped his wallet at the table where he eats lunch so I took it and found seventy greenbacks. He must've fingered Mrs. Li or something to have that much cash..." He cringed, and then handed a card to Karen. "Here."

Karen looked for a second, then made an expression of shock and repulsion as she dropped the card abruptly. "Ewww! Upchuck's school ID! Charming. My hands are coated with slime now."

"We're here." Christian said, getting back to the topic at hand. "Turn the flashlight off. We don't want to be seen."

Karen did so, and as they stepped off the motorcycle, Christian took his pouch and began unloading the contents. He pulled out a container of bleach and a narrow paintbrush as he licked his pasty lips. He unscrewed the top off the bleach container and dipped the paintbrush in it as he walked towards the front of the building, Karen following behind him with infinite curiousity. Christian began to paint a message in bleach on the front of the building.

"How can you see what you're writing? It's way too dark." Karen asked.

"I practiced by writing on a piece of paper with my head turned away." Christian answered. "And I mixed the bleach with a bit of baby powder to make it thicker, like paint."

"Hate to break it to ya, CW, but adding baby powder would make the stuff a gel. It still has a different consistency than paint." Karen replied sharply.

"Oh, Geez, Karen, who made you the science major?" Christian questioned as he wrote the letters on the wall.

"I learned this stuff in, like, Eighth grade. Back when I still paid attention to my teachers."

"...Done." Christian said. "Now, I'm going to need the deodorant."

"Deodorant??? The hell?"

"What? It's an aerosol-based flammable substance. Hey, I'm only doing things by the book."

"You read about this in a book?"

"Yeah, I skimmed through it in the bookstore. Didn't buy it, though."

Karen went through the bag and pulled out a thin canister, and handed it to Christian, who popped off the cap and sprayed the entire message with it. Christian then got out a book of matches, pulled one out, and struck it. "When I say the word, run for it and hold your nose." 

Karen nodded as Christian pressed the match against the wall of the building. "RUN!" Christian said, running away as the wall set fire. The flames disintegrated the chemicals and went out almost immediately, causing a lot of hazardous smoke to lift away from the building.

"...Huh?" Karen asked, stopping in mid-run and turning around. "That was it?"

"Okay, now turn on your flashlight again." Christian said. "I've got to see this."

As Karen flipped the switch and shined the light on the smoking wall, the two rebels froze in disbelief. It wasn't the message "_Belinda Jevinson is a cocksmoker_" in jet black on the wall that caused such awe, either. 

"You just wrote a dirty message and burned it to the wall of a FREAKING CHURCH?!" Karen shouted.

Surely enough, on a sign a few yards away from the dirty message, the flashlight accidentally exposed the words _Our Sweet Jesus Catholic Church._

"Actually, this is pretty cool... It's kinda surreal..." Christian said with amazement.

"And yet you don't have any fear of the repercussions?" Karen asked angrily.

"This is a Catholic church. Belinda Jevinson is a Catholic. Put two and two together. Besides, I'm LaVeyan. This is sorta a victory." Christian said. "Although... It _does_ puts me on the same level as a religious suicide bomber."

"You think so?"

"I'd think so if I believed in levels."

"..."

Christian pulled a couple of coins out of his pocket and handed them to Karen as he began loading the chemicals back into his pouch. He stopped for a moment and pointed to a phone booth on the opposite side of the street. "I'm going to spray-paint some gang symbols on the buildings over here. Go over there and call the LPD. Report a case of spousal abuse taking place at 1100 Lawndale Road, apartment 301b."

"Why?"

"We want every cop in town busy. Luckily, there's only about three cars on duty right now; a phony call'll bring that number down to two, the fact that we've got lazy cops in town makes it one, and as for the last one..." Christian motioned to the graffiti.

"You're being a designated decoy for Brittany Taylor again?"

"It's an easy $225 from a girl that can afford it. What's the problem??? You think I'm going to make my cash _honestly?_ No friggin' way. Too boring."

"No, no, this _is_ cool, man. It's just that I thought you said you'd never take me with you on one of these jobs." Karen said with a grin.

"I guess had a change of heart, didn't I?" Christian replied with an identical grin.

****

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"

"You IDIOT! You pull a stunt like that and expect that the cops aren't going to see this one?"

"Okay! Okay! Okay! Going up the ramp equals bad idea."

"Fricking MORON! MOR-ON! Now that there are THREE patrol cars on your back, what are you going to do?"

"The chant of serenity."

"Wha?"

"Isuckandiamafailureinlifeisuckandiamafailureinlifeisuckandi..."

"Oh, GREAT chant."

Being chased madly by three cop cars, Christian managed to turn sharply into an alley that was too big for a car, but only a bit tight for a motorcycle (in other words, Christian's legs were causing friction burn on the brick walls.)

"I think we're almost (ow!) out of the fire (ow!) after we get out of this alley." Christian said.

"Oh, that's great!!! Too bad they got your _license plate number!"_

"Guess what? (ow!)"

"This is Belinda Jevinson's license plate."

"This is (ow!) Belinda Jevin- (ow!) Jevinson's license plate. You are (ow!) correct."

At the end of Christian's sentence, Christian made a sharp turn into another alley. This one was shorter than the last one, and the public road was soon reached. Christian u-turned on his motorcycle and went back into the alley.

"(Ow!) More (ow!) pain..."

Suddenly, the blaring sirens stopped. Driving out of the alley, Christian took a road and started rubbing his legs in pain. 

"Owwwwwwww... Karen! Give me the time."

"It's 11:49."

"Good. We've got every cop in town on the east side looking for us. All right. When we reach Wing-Wang-Wong-Chow-Fung Chinese Eatery, we're in the least cop-frequented area in town. When that happens, I'll duck around a building and you can get this garbage bag off my motorcycle."

"Wing Wang Wong? Who the hell would eat at a restaurant with _that _name?"

"I think that's the point. This is probably a Yakuza hangout or something. Anyway, I hear the best place for Asian food around here is that Good Times joint..."

"Yakuza's the _Japanese."_

"Oh, like I care. I bet you learned that crap while playing 'Grand Theft Auto' or something else like that. Rockstar releases one overrated game, and all of a sudden, everybody's a criminologist. Geez."

"I just realized something. You seriously screwed up back there."

"So?"

"So my achievement for the day is no longer just a mere dream. I saw you seriously screw up."

"Oh. That. Just... Just shut up, aight?"

"Heh heh heh..."

Christian found Wing Wang Wong and drove behind it. Checking to make sure nobody was looking, he signaled for Karen to get out of the motorcycle and tear off the garbage bag. She did so, and Christian took off his hood.

"Throw that garbage bag in the trash. Our visibility is way up right now, so remember if the cops show up again they can produce mug shots."

"Where are we going now?"

"Heh..."

"CHRISTIAN! You are totally scaring me right now... Please don't tell me we're going to..."

"_A nest!!! We are going to a nest!!!!!_" Christian said maniacally. "Bwahahahahaha!!!!"

"_Noooooooooooo!!!!!"_

"Yep."

"Damn."

****

And so, Christian and Karen found themselves at the foot of the Taylor residence, they came face-to-face with the bouncer who guarded the door that led to the party- Which in turn would lead to him getting enough money to buy a Nintendo GameCube and enough junk food to last him for a month. And maybe some iodine and Band-Aids for his burning knees. Christian relished his good fortune by grinning mischieviously and snickering.

"Chris, your laugh sounds like John Goodman just sat down on a bubble wrap armchair." Karen said, with such flatness that she'd make a suitable Daria impersonator.

"I know, but doesn't it make me seem all the more sexy and mysterious...?" Christian replied.

"Not really. Actually, not at all."

"Oh, shuddup. The hell do you know?"

"I know that right now, I feel like I'm in the bizzarro-world, is all." Karen said, in reference to the mammoth mansion that stood before her. She could hear the squealings of a Blink 182 song blasting from the insides of the house. She began to approach the front door, but Christian pulled her back by her left arm. "What gives?!" She nearly shouted.

"If the likes of us enter through the front door, we make ourselves as visible as tits on Baywatch. Our sheer proximity to this fortress is extremely toxic to our kind, and our presence poisons them, as well. Nay, on these jobs I always take the precautions and order that ridiculous bouncer to drag Brittany to the backdoor of the house, so we don't attract as much attention." Christian answered.

"So, Brittany pays you under the table so you don't ruin her rep?"

"Doy! Of course. You don't think she'd associate with us in public, do you?"

"Hmm..."

Christian turned towards the bouncer and ignored Karen for a second. "Ey! Bouncy-bounce! Get your mistress around back so I can get my wages!"

The bouncer turned to him and raised one corner of his unibrow. "I see. So you're the police patsy, huh?"

"I prefer 'Tactical Diversion Ops Specialist,' but I suppose that's too many syllables for ya. "

"Go around back, you should know the drill. She'll be with you shortly." The bouncer said flatly. "How much is she payin' ya, anyway?"

"About half a grand." Christian answered, amused at his own fib. "How about you, man? Oh, wait, I remember. At the last party, she paid the bouncer eight-hundred straight."

"_What the...? _I mean, uh, uh, yeah, the broad's payin' me $800."

"Damn straight." Christian retorted smugly.

____________________________

"You know how you pour salt on a slug, and it slowly and painfully begins to shrivel up and die?" Daria asked.

"Yeah, what about it?" Jane replied.

"I'm feeling a similar phenomenon, only the slug represents my IQ in this metaphor."

"Charming..." Jane said unenthusiastically.

Ever since arriving at Brittany Taylor's fortress of a house, Daria and Jane had searched thoroughly for Quinn, (or at least a member of her slavish entourage) but as a whole, they were extremely unsuccessful. This was disconcerting to Daria because she truly had been anticipating this party for the sole sake of embarrassing- no, _humiliating-_ her little sister. However, Quinn Morgendorffer had been extremely sagacious in assuring that her reputation would come to absolutely no harm; Whenever Daria got close enough, she would sense it somehow, dodge through the dense crowd of inviteés, and enter another room of the house. This stratagem had been working almost perfectly the entire night, and predictably enough, Daria was getting extremely frustrated. If this escapade continued like this, then Daria knew that all in all, this would turn out so be a pretty crappy night.

"Hey, are you ready to call it quits?" Jane asked.

"'Just about. Unless I start hearing subliminal Islamic propaganda in the pathetic Justin Timberlake song that's playing right now, in which case things are just getting interesting."

As they were about to leave, Daria caught a flustered Brittany racing to the back of her house, a leather purse dangling from her right shoulder.

"Hey, Brittany." Daria called out to her, "What's with the rush?"

Brittany turned to her and stopped in her tracks. Despite her apparent hurry, she managed to emote the same sickeningly cheerful tone of voice she always had. "Oh, hi, Daria! Um, there's something in the back that I need to fix. Why, do you need anything?"

Daria tried to be as polite as possible; She understood that being invited to a party, for whatever reason, _was _a respectful sentiment, and she figured it would be kind of an insult to leave early. "Um, I'm have to go. I forgot to feed my cat, and he gets really bitchy if you don't feed him. So, me and Jane are going to have to leave."

Brittany turned to face Jane, who was not paying any attention to the conversation and was munching thoughtfully on some cubes of pepperjack cheese at the snack table. "I invited her?!" Brittany asked, looking throughly confused.

"Well, we'll be going now. C'ya." Daria said, grabbing Jane's wrist and rushing out the doorway. In her beeline to escape this house of horrors, she neglected to realize that a photograph had just fallen out of her shirt pocket and floated to the floor near the spot where a bitter and beautiful brunette had been standing.

________________________

Lawndale was chilly tonight; The icy winds drilled through Christian's skin as he waited patiently for a client to emerge from her cacophonous home. Maybe a couple of decades earlier, you might have been able to look into the night sky and see a twinkling starscape, but this was an upper-class suberb in the twenty-first century, and smog lined the atmosphere like a bulletproof truck. There would be no stars tonight.

Karen had chosen to wait by Christian's motorcycle. Christian had initially wondered why, but he assumed that Karen had been feeling a heavy intuition that she didn't belong; almost a magnetic force pushing her away, at least mentally. Christian had had the exact same feeling when he first came to Lawndale so long ago.

Finally, the glass doors creaked slowly open, and Christian could see the silhouette of a young and petite female through the dark hallway exposed by the opening.

"Good evening, Miss Taylor." Christian muttered through his dry and resounding voice.

"Hi, Christian." Brittany whispered through the crack in the doorway. "How did you do?"

"Every patrol car on the West Side of Lawndale is out searching for pranksters and vandals. You think they have time to crash an innocent party?" Christian said with an added snicker.

"You're the best, Chrissy." Brittany murmured, and began to dig through her purse for money.

"Don't call me 'Chrissy,' Britts." Christian said.

"Don't call me 'Britts,' Chrissy." Brittany retorted with a giggle. She handed two-hundred and twenty-five dollars she suckered from her father to an eager Christian.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. This party's been fun."

"Oops. My bad." Christian said jokingly. Brittany giggled, and Christian displayed one of his rare lukewarm smiles.

*___________________________________*

"Now, would anybody like to share their papers on guilt with the rest of the class?" Mr. O'Neill asked his bored and silent class. (Actually, it wasn't completely silent; You _could _hear the sounds of half-hearted flirting floating around the classroom.)

"Anybody? How about you, Kevin?" Mr. O'Neill was always trying to make Kevin Thompson participate.

Kevin stood up, pulled out a wrinkled sheet of notebook paper, and began to read from his paper. "Washington Redskins quarterback Joe Theismann had the ball pitched back to him by John Riggins on a flea-flicker play that failed to fool the Lawndale Landstalkers. That's us, by the way. Arriving in succession were linebackers Harry Carson, myself, of course, because I'm the QB, and Gary Reasons. Theismann's right leg was caught at a really crappy angle and crumpled when I hit him. I guess I don't know my own strength. Theismann waved for help, then screamed because he's such a wuss compared to me before being taken to a hospital for surgery. And it ended his career. And that was the guiltiest I've ever felt."

The combined groans of the entire class formed a sound not unlike that of a jet engine.

"Uh, that was... A _nice_ essay... Uh, would _you _like to share, Mr. Wormwood?" Mr. O'Neill asked.

"No, I would not." Christian replied flatly.

"Uh, would _you _like to share, Mr. Wormwood?"

Christian reluctantly stood up and gave his essay. "One year, when I was working on a big 'project,' I pulled three simultaneous all-nighters fueled mostly by caffeine and my own sense of resentment. I was so tired that I began to hallucinate and see dolphins jumping out of people's pockets. I would've gone to bed, but at this point my own exhaustion had caused me to go temporarily insane, and I began to believe that if I fell unconscious, George Bush would appear over my sleeping body and rape me. So I had a bowl of cereal, and I saw a picture of a hot girl on the kitchen table. That was the last thing I remembered before I woke up two days later, face down on the table, with my ponytail soaked in the soggy cereal. I got up groggily and realized that my pants were missing. I also realized that the picture of the hot girl was actually an old historical photograph of Helen Keller that I'd mistaken for a Playboy pinup."

Shock filled the room and everybody sat in stunned silence. Christian sat down calmly with no change in expression. The period of time between the end of Christian's essay and the ringing of the bell seemed to be an eternity, but in all actuality, it was more like fifteen seconds. The disgusted class ran out of the room, leaving the only remaining lifeforms in the room being Christian, who was slowly approaching the exit, and Mr. O'Neill, who was crying into his sleeve.

_______________________________

Daria and Jane had to take no more than three steps into the hallway before they heard endless laughter erupt from every angle of the forboding corridor. 

Daria was unable to say "What's all this about?" before she realized that tens upon hundreds upon thousands of flyers had been stapled, clipped, and taped to every surface in the school. Every single paper was the same color, (pink) bore the same caption, (_NASTY GIRL_) and had the same photocopied image lying dead center. In almost a demonic fashion, the cruel papers had covered up such a great deal of the walls that the surfaces underneath were barely visible. To Daria, it had almost a hypnotic effect; As if she had stepped into a universe made entirely of these pink papers. The zombie-like people in the hallway, with flyers in their hands which they snorted and guffawed at all in the same identical fashion. To Daria, each and every one of these idiots looked the same.

"Uh oh... Daria, take a look at these..." Jane motioned to one of the papers. Daria barely had to glance at it before it became apparent what was going on.

Five years ago, Quinn Morgendorffer had contracted three different skin infections simultaneously from a cut on her face caused by the tip of an earring; Staph Infection, Chickenpox, and Fifth Disease. None of the illnesses were severe, but combined, several bumps, warts, and rashes had appeared on her face, making her appear quite repulsive. Furthermore, the combined effect of the illnesses had made it so she was unable to keep anything she had ingested down. A younger and more sinister Daria took this opportunity to take a photograph to blackmail Quinn with in the future. The picture had captured the then-sick Quinn at her worst; She was in the middle of vomiting right into a toilet. Daria developed the picture later and found that it was quite revolting. Later, she had lost that picture; And somehow, that same photograph had wound of in the possession of the uncaring and sadistic Christian Wormwood. And now, because Christian couldn't leave well enough alone and because her stupid parents had _had _to move to the same town where the then-persecuted Wormwood had already resided, this picture had been seen by all of Lawndale High School.

Daria looked around, scared for her sister.She couldn't see much because of the crowd being in her way. Daria caught a somber-looking Jodie in her eye, then turned around abruptly to see Andrea, who was nonchalantly brushing the papers out of the way to get to her locker. _Dammit, sis, where are you? _ Daria continued to scan the halls before, finally, she breathed a sigh of relief to see her sister, the butt of all this laughter. Quinn, Daria's little sister who she disagreed with at times but never truly wanted to genuinely hurt. Quinn, who always had an air of arrogant confidence no matter what circumstance. Quinn, who was stuck up and manipulative but who was truly sweet at the core of it all, was running down the hallway shouting- no, _screaming-_ "NOOO!" at the top of her lungs in a fashion that was so uncharacteristic of her as if to be an impression of someone else. 

But it was all too real. Her Aunt Amy had once told her, long ago, that reality was addictive- like a drug. Daria, in retrospect, would have laughed at the irony of that statement if she had not been in the current crisis. _Hahaha... Don't Do Drugs... Hahaha..._

For the first time in her life, Daria began to be annoyed by her own thought process.

Daria knew in her soul that this would be a memory that would haunt her for the rest of her days. She turned her head- she just _couldn't _ watch- Quinn making the futile effort of tearing off as many flyers as she could. She just _couldn't _listen to the entire student body nonchalantly chanting _"NASTY GIRL, NASTY GIRL!" _She just _wouldn't _stop her little sister from running out of the school, crying her eyes out. _She needs this, _Daria thought. _But then again, this is what people are really like, aren't they? They thrive off the torment of others, don't they? Quinn will never be the same after this. We're still new at this school. Welcome to your first impression, dear Quinn._

The real clincher was when a smirking- _God, I _hate _that asshole's smirk- _Christian Wormwood stepped out of Mr. O'Neill's class and glanced at Daria.

"You Bastard!!!" Daria screamed at Christian. He gasped at hearing the rare sound of Daria Morgendorffer shout. That wouldn't be all that would surprise him that day, though, as Daria raised her fist to give Christian a strike to the face that was so hard that, God help him, his grandkids would feel it. The only thing saving him would be a hand gently grabbing Daria's fist from behind, and tugging it back down to her waist.

"He's not worth it, Dar'." Jane reasoned. "Dammit, Daria, _don't_ let you sink to his level."

Daria expected Christian's smirk to vanish off his face. But it was quite the contrary; His smile grew brighter and brighter, until he burst into laughter.

"Don't fool yourself, Jane. I don't believe in levels." He shouted in almost a maniacal manner. "You wanna hit me, Morgendorffer? I _dare you. _Because the second you lay a finger on me, I _will set out to make your life a living hell._ And don't say I'm not capable of that, because you just saw what the fruits of my labor did to my... previous subject." He said, motioning to the doorway where Quinn had run out seconds earlier. "I think you'll enjoy life so much more if you choose to be my friend instead of just another victim."  
  
Daria stood firmly where she was, unphased by Christian's remarks. "I can't believe the nerve of you, Wormwood. We _aren't _going to be friends and I'm not going to let you torture my sister anymore. As far as I'm concerned, I never want to speak to you again."

"You're making a mistake. I'm especially kind to my friends, Daria. Why else do you think I called the bomb squad into the school? I was trying to save your ass." Christian's previously cheerful tone was slowly becoming more and more venomous.

"We don't need your charity." Jane shouted at Christian.

"Blow me, Lane." Christian shot back.

"You're right, Jane." Daria said, sounding like if she'd had a gun, she'd shoot Christian until he looked like Swiss cheese. "I'm outta here."

As Daria and Jane began to walk away, _far_ away from this complete hell, she heard Christian calling to her. She didn't respond or even turn her head, but she'd heard his words clearly:

"Daria!! I don't know what made you realize it, but you're completely freaking right!! I'm NOT a good person!! I'm not even a nice one!! I AM the proverbial- fucking- scum of the Earth!!"

As he watched them vanish into the crowd of students, Christian was pleased but he couldn't help but be confused as to the origin of the flyers. If this wasn't the doing of Daria, who he'd given the picture to, then who was responsible? _Somebody's bein' sneaky... _He thought to himself. Christian caught a glimpse of a buxom brunette wearing a jumpsuit-thing who seemed to be just as pleased as he was. Not simply amused, like the other students, but _genuinely pleased. _Hmm... And wasn't this person connected to the Fashion Club...?

"It's time for some answers, bitch." Christian said to himself as he approached the girl.

~~TO BE CONTINUED~~


End file.
